


Supervillains Don't Steal! (and other HxH oneshots)

by avtorSola



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Delirium, Don't copy to another site, Fever, Hate Crimes, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Jargon, Sickfic, Sleepy Cuddles, Vampire AU, Vampire!Killua, Whumptober, chapter 4 is whumptober2019 prompt 3 - delirium, chapters contain specific content warnings, some capitalism-bashing, tags added as needed, unhealthy amounts of chocolate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-02 07:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20671535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avtorSola/pseuds/avtorSola
Summary: This is going to be the beginning of an HxH oneshot collection!Current Prompt: Whumptober Prompt 3#: DeliriumKillua POV, very-sickficWill include Killugon, Leopika, HisoIllu, and other pairings!





	1. Supervillains Don't Steal! (from small businesses)

It was definitely always a surprise to see Godspeed out of the specially-constructed jail cell that Metropolis City always tried (and failed) to imprison him in, but what honestly caught Gon more off guard than anything was how _ordinary_ Godspeed looked in normal civilian clothes. And Godspeed was anything but ordinary. He should have been recognizable on sight to most of Metropolis City’s population. But from the cheerful way he was chatting happily away with the redheaded store clerk, it was more than obvious that nobody else had recognized him.

It was weirdly reminiscent of how not a single soul had ever recognized Gon as Jajanken, despite his only identity protection being a lazy mask that only barely covered his cheekbones and forehead. It seemed they had the same strange anonymity cloaking them at all times, the veil Gon had never been able to puzzle out.

Ah well. He had a job to do. Sort of.

Gon started walking, the half-filled shopping basket in the crook of his arm creaking with tension as he wound his way through racks of clothing towards the chatty prison escapee and the young cashier currently scanning at least twelve boxes of chocolate on his scanner. Amber eyes blinked owlishly at the amount of chocolate in shock, sliding silently into line behind the whippetlike man he’d only _just_ sent to jail again last week. Godspeed didn’t seem to notice him, watching eagerly as the smiling cashier rang up his order and gave him a basket stocked high with chocolate milk, varied types of chocolate candies and cereals, and at least one discounted chocolate bunny left over from the holiday two weeks ago.

Gon stared, mildly horrified by the quantity of chocolate his ultimate nemesis was apparently able to consume. No _wonder_ the guy could move so fast, with that amount of sugar in his system. Eating that much candy should be a crime. Especially given the perpetrator.

“Ah…that’s gonna be $103.04, please.”

Godspeed made a strangely kittenish squeak of excitement, pulling out a wallet and extracting what was clearly a credit card, the name stamped on it reading _Killua Zoldyck_ in faded silver letters. Gon couldn’t hold back a sigh. Probably stolen. But the noise caught Godspeed’s attention, and he glanced back over one shoulder with a playful smirk.

A blue gaze went round in shock, and for the first time Gon noticed just how blue the supervillain’s eyes really were. His costume didn’t really do much to emphasize his looks, did it?

“You!” the villain spat, but much to Gon’s surprise there wasn’t even the slightest hint of rancor in that yelp, and a smile quickly spread over Godspeed’s pale face. He reached out, clapping a hand on Gon’s shoulder, a hint of static electricity sparking into Gon’s shoulder like a zap of warning. “Nice to see you again. Last week was fun, wasn’t it?”

Gon blinked. What. Fun? Godspeed’s stolen credit card beeped in the chip scanner, and the receipt started to print as the redheaded cashier pulled it out, handing it back to him with a grin.

“See you around, Killua. You sweets-addicted dork.”

The supervillain stuck out his tongue at the cashier, huffing irritably, but there wasn’t even the slightest pause to indicate that the name was an alias, and Gon felt his confusion inflate again, until it felt like steam was going to whistle out his ears.

“Says _you_, Ikalgo.” Godspeed – Killua? Was his name actually Killua? So the card wasn’t stolen after all? – snorted. “I don’t need a lecture from the guy who ate an _entire_ crystallized pineapple by himself.”

“Crystallized pineapple is good!” the cashier protested. Blue eyes flickered with hidden lightning, the lightshow pretty and mirthful.

“Yeah, if you’re like, fifty.”

The cashier scowled and shoved the receipt into Godspeed’s spidery hand.

“I oughta add a tax to all your purchases for being a general nuisance,” he complained, and Gon unwittingly felt a laugh bubble up this throat.

“And for being a pain in the ass,” he mumbled, half to himself, but Godspeed heard him and threw him an offended look as Ikalgo burst into loud chortles, doubling over on the counter.

“Ex-_cuse_ you, here I am being a good citizen for once, and you just have to go and insult me like that,” Godspeed whined, a dangerous light glittering in that slanted stare. It was the same sharp look that always got Gon’s blood boiling as Jajanken, but out of the uniforms of city superhero and supervillain, it had…a different effect. Godspeed didn’t usually wear white skinny jeans and black, form-fitting turtlenecks while planting bombs all over the old, though admittedly pre-demolition, elementary school, after all. (That was the latest on Godspeed’s laundry list of criminal activity).

Gon shifted, cocking his head to the side, and started allowing Ikalgo to scan the fruits and veggies he’d placed in his basket.

“Well, I mean…this _is_ out of character for you.”

Godspeed pouted at him and lifted his nose in the air, purchased bags of chocolate things dangling off his lean frame like flimsy cloth tree ornaments.

“It is _not_, I ALWAYS buy my chocolate here. It’s all made fresh in the back, so,” he scoffed. Gon shook his head, scanning his usual enemy’s expression flatly.

“No, I meant…can’t you just steal it?”

For a brief second Killua looked startled, like he hadn’t been expecting that to come out of Gon’s mouth, and then he burst into giggles of mirth very different from the affected maniacal laughter he usually put on during their televised battles. It was a much kinder sound.

Much more warm.

“I’m a supervillain, not a petty criminal, Jajanken.”

Gon blinked, nonplussed, and the smile started to slip gradually off Godspeed’s face, dawning realization sparking in the taller man’s sapphire glare. Suddenly he looked soft, almost pitying.

“You never realized? I don’t steal from small businesses. Or hurt innocent people. Just the people who can afford to choke down some damage, and usually deserve it anyway,” Godspeed continued. Ikalgo just looked at them, entirely nonchalant in his blue apron as he rang up the purchases, and gradually Gon realized he probably knew Godspeed’s identity, and simply didn’t care. He spluttered for a moment, wracking his memory for all the times that Mayor Morow and his banking friend – Illuki? Illuni? Something like that – had gone on long tirades about the evils of Godspeed.

But…he’d fought Godspeed. Often. Often enough that he knew the scent of the villain’s shampoo, often enough that he knew the source of Godspeed’s superspeed was electromagnetic manipulation, somehow. Often enough that he knew the other man had a soft smattering of pale freckles just across the bridge of his nose, often enough that the strange trill of maniac laughter had started sounding forced and repetitive even as it was coming out of that smiling mouth.

He’d fought Godspeed often enough to realize that not a single bystander had ever been hurt. Not even once. And the buildings they destroyed in their battles were either always dilapidated and scheduled for demolition, or were glossy new corporate buildings. Either way, they always were replaced – and quickly.

He narrowed his eyes, trying not to start anxiously chewing on his lower lip. Ikalgo flapped a hand at him with a cheerful chirp.

“$94.80 is your total!”

Absently, Gon slotted his credit card into the card reader, still staring at Godspeed’s angular face. The supervillain grinned impishly at him, white teeth flashing sharply. Clearly, he knew full well that at this distance he wouldn’t be able to dodge one of Gon’s devastatingly strong punches – or, more harmlessly, one of his concussive sonic blasts – and yet his confidence hadn’t waned in the slightest.

“Anyway. Last week was fun, yeah?”

Gon stared, wondering at this mischievous side, slowly turning the idea over in his mind. Slowly, he relaxed, pulling his credit card out of the card reader and taking the paper bags of veggies from a smirking Ikalgo.

“…you really _don’t_ go after people who can’t afford it, do you? I never noticed.”

Godspeed shook his head, white hair flipping messily around. Gon tried not to think about how cute he was without the overdramatic black and blue of his villain costume muddling his facial features.

“Nope!” he said cheerfully, popping the ‘p’ sound with a grin. “I’m a classic class traitor, and Mayor Moron is dating my brother. Why else do you think they’re so intent on sending you after me while they’ve been embezzling off the tax revenue for…I don’t know, six years?”

Gon choked.

“I’m sorry- they _what._”

Godspeed laughed again and shrugged casually.

“Anyway. I cause mischief, they send you after me to try and put me in prison so they can experiment with ways to cut off my powers so I’ll be a normal kid and not a freak, and then I bust out after three days of being bored and playing nice. And go back to terrorizing the oligarchy. It’s been driving my dad _crazy_, and hey! Now Mayor Clown has to use the 1.9 million dollars he was going to use to ‘safely demolish’ the old elementary school to actually build something. He can’t skim off it now.”

Gon gaped, utterly lost for words, and Godspeed turned away then, waving a hand lazily, white skinny jeans rustling as he headed towards the exit with his canvas bags of chocolate in tow. The electronic sliding doors rolled away as he came close, his lean frame silhouetted against the bright daylight outside quite neatly. Suddenly, Gon found his tongue.

“Wait- I’m Gon!”

Godspeed stopped dead, turning around with a white eyebrow cocked curiously. Then he grinned widely.

“I’m Killua! Same time next week? It’s fun running circles around you.”

Gon paused, hesitantly considering what to say next, but he took too long and Killua giggled again, smirking wickedly. Lightning sparked in blue arcs from the soles of his feet, and Gon lunged towards him on instinct, yelling wordlessly.

He was too late. It only took a blink and Godspeed was off faster than lightning, a trail of electricity vibrating in his wake,

“Catch me if you can, Jajanken!”


	2. Coffin Coffee Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: tumblr ask!  
"A vampire was in a deep, revitalising sleep for several months and woke up only to discover that their roommate/friend/partner/whatever-the-appropriate-term-is is using their coffin as a table. With a horridly pink, frilly tablecloth."
> 
> Thank you for the prompt! I have a vampire HxH AU in progress, so I think I’ll use this for some Killugon shenanigans XD – for reference, Killua is a vampire that doesn’t drink from humans, and Gon is the human boyfriend. It’s a canon-compliant universe – just add vamps + angst (in the full AU anyway)

Resurfacing from the deep, pleasant murk of a long period of hibernation was always a rather slow process, and this time was no exception. Tendrils of feeling crept in crackling motion through his cheeks, spreading from his face down the sides of his throat and into his chest, where his heart beat slowly, only once every minute and a half, or somewhere thereabouts. His eyelids still felt heavy with sleep, limbs still numb and dead, but he was stirring, gradually pulling himself back to some level of semiconsciousness. It just took some time.

Finally the gentle paralysis of sleeping limbs faded, pins and needles prickling his skin as nerve endings protested, and he opened his eyes to the dark. Or – what would have been the dark, had his eyes not been lit with an inner flame that cut easily through night. The deep ruby satin cushioning stitched to the inside of his snooze-box shimmered in the ghostly blue flicker. He yawned sleepily, cracking his spine. Then he pushed up easily on the satin ceiling.

There was a sudden yell of shock, the sound of many small glass ornaments shattering and something pink fell on his head, fluttering over tufts of white hair as he sat up, sleepily baffled by the commotion. And the pink thing.

Then he shook himself and shoved the cloth off his head, looking around the room in growing confusion – and no little indignation. Gon waved cheerfully at him from his spot next to a terrified-looking woman on the couch, his hair a little longer now and tied in a tiny dark ponytail at the nape of his neck.

“Oh! Killua, you’re finally awake!”

Killua stared flatly at his boyfriend, then at the glass shattered on their hardwood floors, and then at a giggling Alluka, who was standing by two other horrified-looking men. Alluka. Pink.

“Why were you using my _coffin_ as a _coffee table?!_” he yelled, lunging from the open box at his sister, who screamed with delight and threw her arms around him, laughing and patting his back. She’d put on a little weight since he’d last seen her, but the healthy, good kind that came with the hormones she was on now, and the curves were much more evident than before.

“You were taking up too much room under my bed!” she chirped, and Killua picked her up with no effort, leaping into the air and swirling her around on a slow hover before letting her drop back to the ground.

“Under your _bed? _What AM I to you people, a funny kind of jack-in-the-box or something?”

Gon piped up then, laughing uncontrollably behind a hand, and Killua whirled on him next, vampiric power blazing blue in the deep iris of his eyes. He was trying not to smile, fangs sitting pretty and white high in his jaw, but he knew he was failing, and the three strangers in the room were gradually edging closer and closer to his hair color in terms of skin tone. Gon stood up, walking towards him as Killua huffed and lifted his nose.

“And _you_! Letting Alluka cover me in _pink_ – it’s not even my favorite _shade_ of pink, just a ghastly rosy-yechhhh color- oh-”

Gon’s arms wound tightly around his waist, the tip of his rounded nose pressing gently against Killua’s upper lip, his warm human breath moist on dry, pale skin.

“Welcome back.” Gon murmured. “I missed you.”

It was the only warning he got before there was a mouth on his, moving gently against the sharp danger of his fangs, and every ounce of his self-control drained away. He grinned wordlessly into the kiss, hands coming up to cup Gon’s cheeks, tilting the shorter man’s face to his without missing a beat. For a moment, that was all he was aware of, this tender warmth, the secure press of Gon’s fingers into his spine, dragging gently up under the hem of his shirt. Oh, he’d missed this so much, even in dreams.

And then Alluka, twenty -or twenty-one, now? How long had he slept? – year old gremlin girl that she was, giggled and made a few retching noises, and they broke apart in varied states of embarrassment.

“Ewwwww, you’re making out in front of the _cops_, Onii-chan!”

Killua tried not to let the blush rise to his cheeks, and knew he failed as the heat crept towards his eyebrows. Gon tucked his face into Killua’s neck, making a muffled scream of both laughter and embarrassment. Alluka, however, looked positively gleeful, and she stared pointedly at the three policemen in the room, blue eyes flashing dangerously.

“So! My brother isn’t missing, Gon isn’t a suspect, and you now have no case for that fake arrest warrant. Come back when it’s been signed by an actual judge,” she chirped, skipping forward to wave a slightly threatening goodbye in the cops’ faces. “Bye now!”

Gon chuckled into Killua’s collarbone, and Killua breathed a long sigh of contentment into Gon’s hair as the police officers fled Alluka’s cheery commands to leave. Waking up from a long sleep just to have Gon kiss him so soundly – it made everything so fuzzy and pleasant. Everything was almost perfect.

Almost.

“For real though – a coffee table?”


	3. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: from tumblr ask!  
“He/she/they said what now?”
> 
> College/Rugby AU: Gon just wanted to make chocolate-chip pancakes for Killua. Instead, his boyfriend limps through the door in tears and scared.  
Hurt/comfort, angst, some medical jargon, and some mild fluffy cuddles.
> 
> WARNING: This oneshot contains themes of homophobia - specifically in the form of a hate crime. A slur is used a few times.

It was finally Friday. Gon was in the kitchen, concentrating hard on the pancakes he was making for a midafternoon snack, and Ikalgo was on the couch eating Pringles and watching Doctor Who reruns. It was usual routine of absolute dithering that they usually followed quite diligently – at least until Killua came back to the dorm after his last class, complaining about his major or wistfully talking about the art projects that all the full-time art students were allowed to do. It had become comfortable for them – Ikalgo wolf-whistling from wherever he was in the tiny dorm when Gon pulled Killua into a hug, or a kiss, or tugged him into a chair and shoveled tiny bites of chocolate-coated trail mix into paint-stained hands. So when Killua shuffled back into the apartment today, Gon turned around cheerfully, completely ready to present his boyfriend with a plate of chocolate chip pancakes, sliced bananas and strawberries.

But that didn’t happen.

The first clue that something was amiss was that it was about two hours after Killua’s usual return time – though that wasn’t entirely unusual. He’d often stop by Palm’s Java for a cup of coffee on his way back from his Economic Management class, or, more frequently, would lurk in the art classrooms, doodling on paper or painting on the spare canvases he managed to beg from the art professors. So he was late – that was fine.

The second clue was that he hadn’t texted. This was more concerning. It was rare for Killua not to let Gon know he’d be late coming back, though it did happen on occasion because Killua’s phone battery was fairly weak and he spent half his classes with his headphones in, tuning out the dull drudge of business and finance in favor of doodling in a sketchbook. So he hadn’t texted – concerning but not definitively worrying.

The third clue, however, was more damning evidence than a mere clue. It was evident in Killua’s black eye, the odd, shameful limp that made it clearly difficult for him to open the door, and the way he was almost doubled over with a hand pressed to his left side, breathing faintly, tears running down his paper-white face and bleeding black eyeliner onto his sharp cheekbones. He paused against the door, trying to speak though it was clear he couldn’t do much more than wheeze, and a tickle of blood dribbled from his mouth, his lip split.

Gon dropped the plate he was holding and dove forward without hesitation. Ikalgo shut off the TV at the commotion, the massive man rolling off the couch with red hair in staticky disarray as Gon gently, gently wrapped his arms around Killua, helping him the rest of the way inside their apartment. Killua’s chest was heaving without breaths, and he winced, flinching in pain at Gon’s touch, still trying to choke back tears and walk normally with no success. Ikalgo stared at his friends in horror, then bit his lip.

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” he hurried, darting away to the tiny linen closet in his shoebox room. Gon nodded, half-carrying Killua to the couch to sit him down, then spun aside to sit next to his boyfriend, discreetly moving a hand to slide under the hem of sobbing man’s t-shirt. Killua winced at the touch again and let out a soft cry, still wheezing through the tears and black eye taking up half of his face.

“What happened, Killua?”

Gon really wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, but when blue eyes tightened, fear creeping into the too-pale angles of Killua’s face, he suddenly felt cold.

“…called me…” Killua’s voice faded out halfway through, his head falling back against the old couch cushions weakly as Ikalgo hurried back out of his room with the first aid kit and a few towels and other things in his hands. Gon carefully tugged his boyfriend’s shirt up to expose the bright red and darkening violet of forming bruises dotting the pale stomach and side, trying to focus on anything but the slide of ice down his spinal column. The sharp crack of one of the chemical cooling packs being activated distracted him, and Gon watched as Ikalgo wrapped the plastic bag in a towel before carefully placing it over Killua’s bruised abdomen. They cracked a second chemical cooling pack too, passing it to Killua so he could lay the cold object over his swelling eye.

The former gymnast sighed shakily, still clearly distraught over what had happened, but the sobs had dwindled into thin hiccups of pain and Gon felt marginally less worried. It was clear that Killua had been attacked or involved in an accident of some kind, but it didn’t seem to be anything that a quick trip to the campus clinic couldn’t fix if necessary, though he was concerningly pale – even for a Zoldyck. He let out a long, slow breath, taking his boyfriend very carefully into his arms, cautious of aggravating the darkening bruises. Killua tucked his face into Gon’s collarbone, staying far stiffer than he usually would, the streaks of black makeup on his cheeks crusted by now. His skin was cool to the touch, clammy with sweat.

He was trembling.

“Killua, what happened?” Gon asked again.

For a moment, Killua was quiet. The fear in his gaze was now mixed with anger and boiling grief, a deeprooted strain of frustrated heartache pressing fresh saltwater to pool on his eyelids.

“…Three guys from the Criminal Justice department jumped me,” he said hoarsely, still breathing shallowly through the pain he was feeling. It was slowly starting to dawn on Gon that he was trying not to move his chest or belly much – with good reason. “One came up asking if I knew some professor, and while I was busy trying to answer him, two other guys grabbed me from behind and dragged me into an alley. I barely managed to get away – had to knock one out by kicking him in the face, and the other two I outran.”

Here, he halted for a moment, jaw flexing. It was like he was fighting to allow sound to spill from his split lip. Then he wheezed again, choking on air.

“They kept calling me a fag, Gon. They had me pinned on my back, and kept kicking- kicking me, punching, spitting on me, calling me a sissy and all sorts of shit-”

“They said _what _now?”

It was Ikalgo, his dark glare burning, a flush of anger rising up his face to redden his freckled cheeks. The mop of flaming red curls on his head almost seemed to swell in fury. Killua glanced at him with his one visible eye, the other still hidden behind the cold pack, those words sitting heavy and reluctant on his tongue. But Gon cut in, his voice deadly calm, amber gaze flattened to blank brown stone.

“You were limping.”

Ikalgo lifted an eyebrow, confused, but Killua blanched, the little color he still had draining from his face and Gon nearly snarled in fury. Ikalgo went pale as well.

“They _touched-_”

“No!” Killua cut Gon off, white with panic – or pain, Gon couldn’t tell. “No, they didn’t, I swear. They just…they went for my pants, then I freaked and kicked one in the teeth. He let go, one of his buddies tried to punch me in the throat and missed – hit my face instead – and one of them kicked me in the groin to finish everything off. I ran after that.”

Ikalgo stared in shock, then swallowed hard and turned to Gon, clearly trying not to punch anything.

“I’ll drive you and Killua to Dr. Paladiknight?”

Gon growled, but nodded, sliding his hands beneath Killua’s knees and shoulders and lifting smoothly. Killua let out a sharp, half-bitten scream as his bruised stomach shifted, then let out a tiny breath and tried to relax into Gon’s chest. The rugby forward stumbled a bit under his boyfriend’s weight, once again pleasantly surprised by the thin, but soft cushion of fat starting to pad over that too-lean body. Ikalgo steadied them, holding the front door open and snatching the keys while Gon carried Killua down the stairs and to their Ikalgo’s old grey sedan.

Gon helped Killua into the backseat, then slid in after him while Ikalgo got behind the wheel, started the car, and hit the gas. Leorio was waiting for them at the clinic, scrolling through his phone wearily, his scrubs a fresh shade of navy, and he looked up when Gon and Ikalgo came in with their battered Zoldyck limping alongside his boyfriend. His expression didn’t change in the slightest, utterly unsurprised by their arrival.

“I was wondering when you would get here,” he sighed, his tone warm with satisfaction. “The three idiots who attacked you came here first to fix their broken noses and missing teeth, forgetting that Kurapika is head of their department and saw the whole thing go down on the security tape.”

Then his smug aura faded and he stood, casting a critical eye over Killua. He frowned a little, brows furrowing together in a crease of worry. There was a sudden surge of yelling from within the depths of the clinic, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Kurapika’s snarl of fury echoing down the hallway, their words vague and distorted. Leorio stiffened a touch.

“You’re very pale, Killua.” His gaze flicked to Gon, a hint of urgency fluttering across his face. “Bring your Zoldyck back so we can see what the damage is. Ikalgo, can I ask that you stay out here? The dean of students will be arriving soon to deal with this attack, and I need someone to let him know I’m with the victim.”

Gon’s grip on Killua’s shoulder tightened for a second, and then he forced himself to relax. He knew why Leorio was letting him back with Killua, and it was just to prevent any more damage from happening. Not to Killua, of course. But Leorio knew Gon’s temperament well, and was perfectly well aware that if Killua’s attackers came within earshot, they’d be lucky to escape with only broken bones.

So he helped Killua into one of the back rooms, sat quietly in the corner, and waited.

* * *

“Easy does it, son, he’s going to be fine. Why don’t you come up here and ride with us?”

Gon was shaking, standing frozen on the asphalt outside, fear and fury warring within him. He could see the dean, Kurapika, four police officers, and Ikalgo standing in the clinic lobby, three unfamiliar boys sitting in the plastic chairs, wrists cuffed together. All three of them were looking at the flashing lights and white van outside in shock. Kurapika’s expression was dark, darker than he’d ever seen before. Ikalgo was in tears, the dean very clearly trying to reassure him and failing.

Gon swallowed around the lump in his throat, lower lip wobbling, and accepted the hand up into the back of the vehicle, ducking under the influence of the sirens. The man who’d been talking to him directed him to one of the seats, the one closest to where Killua lay pale on the stretcher. Gon sat heavily, hands shaking. Killua took a shallow breath next to him, blue eyes hazy with pain and the fluttering effects of hypovolemic shock.

“…I’m okay, Gon.”

Leorio had ended up calling the ambulance after doing both a physical exam and then an ultrasound of Killua’s abdomen. Though he had made certain to specify that the call was urgent, but not emergency, that was probably more for Gon’s benefit than anything, as he’d then rapid-fired all sorts of other technical jargon into the phone that Gon’s biology-major ass could only just barely decipher. Stuff about hemorrhaging, hemodynamic stability, and splenic injury grading had all been tossed around with enough speed to take a man’s head clean off – metaphorically speaking.

But the bottom line was that Killua was bleeding internally, his spleen apparently ruptured due to the vicious assault, and he needed to go to the hospital.

Gon’s knuckles went white on his knees, the EMTs in the patient carriage with them buzzing around Killua professionally, slapping the sensors of an electrocardiogram onto that paper-white skin, green line blipping diligently, and gently poking him with needles. Logically, he knew that Leorio’s overt calm upon choosing to offload Killua to the larger hospital actually in the city proper meant that the injuries weren’t severe enough to be a cause for major concern.

But on the other hand…Killua was being hospitalized because he’d been assaulted. For dating another man.

“You…you don’t have to lie to make me feel better, Killua,” Gon said, his throat tight. The tear tracks on Killua’s face were crusted now, lines of black crooked down his cheekbones. He reached out, gently cupping the unbruised side of his boyfriend’s face. “I know you’re hurting, and I…I know that the one thing that could make me feel any better would mean we’d need three more ambulances and probably another police officer.”

Killua smiled a little, his split lip and swollen black eye making it hard for him to shift his face beyond the faint grin. But he didn’t move from how the EMTs had lain him on the stretcher, his lack of response beyond that betraying the pain he was in. Gon reached over, taking his hand and carefully rubbing the pale knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

“…yeah, that…that probably wouldn’t have gone well,” Killua groaned, and Gon ignored the thump as the ambulance doors were pulled shut and the vehicle started moving.

“I’m still going to beat the living snot out of them,” Gon choked out. Killua shook his head reprovingly, then groaned as one of the EMTs moved a handheld ultrasound scanner over the left side of his belly, right at the curve of his ribcage where the bruise was less purple than black, and very puffy with swelling. The screen showed a lot of fuzzy grey, and then a small well of black, draining into the mesh of solid organs around it. That was the bleeding. And it looked larger and darker since the last time Gon had seen it, only twenty minutes prior.

“G-get in line.” Killua ground out, his hand gripping Gon’s with sudden crushing force. The green line monitoring his pulse was starting to skip funny, the low rumble of the ambulance racing down the freeway accompanied by a muffled wail of the siren outside. The EMTs threw them cursory amused looks, attention still locked onto Killua’s injuries and the machines monitoring his pulse and blood pressure. One of them, a young person without any immediately evident indications of their gender, smiled widely, anger written on their cheeks.

“That’s the spirit,” they said. “Now, we’re going to take you back into the ER once we get there, okay? Your boyfriend is going to have to wait outside until the attending physician is done.”

The ambulance was slowing down, Gon thought, and so he clung on tightly to Killua’s hand and swallowed hard. The blue eyes blinked fuzzily, fear passing across that pallid face, but he set his jaw and nodded shallowly. It wasn’t as if he had much choice.

“Okay.”

Then the ambulance doors pulled open and Killua was wheeled in, leaving Gon to choke on his own anxiety in the waiting room.

* * *

The door clinked, squeaking in split tones as it was shouldered open, revealing broad shoulders and a funky bouquet of tiny black-eyed-susans and daffodils, cleared for entry by the front desk. Amber eyes peeked over top of the bouquet, blinking owlishly at the room’s only occupant, and then blew a noisy raspberry. Killua looked up from the book in his lap, blue eyes lighting up at the sight of the flowers, and he grinned through a haze of drowse, blushing a touch pink across the bridge of his freckled nose.

“Gon! You’re out of class early!” White eyebrows knitted together suddenly, a flicker of suspicion popping over the former gymnast’s forehead. “…you skipped class, didn’t you?”

Gon stuck out his tongue.

“You can’t prove it!”

“Gon! You can’t just skip all your classes to visit me!”

“Can too! I asked the professor and he said he was completely fine with it.”

Killua’s cheeks puffed out, but he couldn’t say anything to refute Gon missing class on those terms. The rugby forward practically skipped over to him and planted a tiny kiss on his forehead, leaning around the IV stand and the EKG screen to nuzzle his boyfriend’s forehead. Then he passed the bundle of flowers to the white-haired man, who brought them to his face and sniffed lightly. Killua sighed, relaxing somewhat onto the angled mattress he lay on, eyelids blinking slowly.

“Oh, that’s nice.”

Gon perked up almost immediately, taking the vase of old flowers from Killua’s bedside table and replacing the wilted stems with the new ones. Then he sat on the edge of his boyfriend’s hospital bed and leaned in to cuddle, carefully snuggling up against Killua’s right side and tangling his fingers in the white fluff. Killua hummed with sleepy contentment, almost purring when Gon started gently massaging his scalp in tiny circles, and turned his face. The deep indigo of the bruise spreading across his eye and upper cheekbone was starting to yellow now, still puffy and annoying, but healing. Gon kissed it gently.

“How are you feeling?”

Killua sighed again, playing absently with the extra tubing of the IV line stuck in the soft underside of his arm.

“Shitty, but better. I’ve got stitches in my _spleen_, you know.”

Gon’s smile suddenly felt stiff on his face, and he swallowed, gaze drifting down to Killua’s side, where a few neat columns of stitches were wrapped under layers of bandaging. It had been a successful, easy surgery according to the attending surgeon – nothing more than a few small incisions and the use of laparoscopic tools to suture up the tear and stem the bleeding – but even so, Gon still felt sick over it.

“…Any pain?”

Killua huffed and elbowed him in the gut with a knobbly elbow, but the movement was subdued. Gon laughed a little at him, and Killua sighed, nuzzling back into the warmth of his boyfriend’s t-shirt.

“I’m _fine_, Gon_._ I’m about ten milligrams from being high on freaking Percocet, okay?”

For a little while after that, they just cuddled. It had become something of a routine in the four days since Killua’s admittance to the hospital. Gon would either skip class, ask to leave, or grudgingly sit through it until he could bike off campus and arrive, out of breath, at the front desk. And it worked, really well. Killua would doze because the painkillers made him sleepy, snuggled up against Gon’s side, his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder, and Gon would watch TV or do homework. Or they’d talk, and Gon would both steal and freely give kisses, all over Killua’s face, though he was careful around the black eye.

But instead, this time Gon leaned in, pressing a sweet, slow kiss to Killua’s mouth, tender against the split lip. A puzzled beep split the air, one of Killua’s familiar little noises the only interruption for a few soft moments until the heart monitor by Killua’s bed started making little beeps of alarm. Then Gon pulled back, taking a shaky breath, and the deep flush spread across pale cheekbones began to fade out of contrast with bright blue.

“They expelled the guys who attacked you today. And the police arrived to take them to prison, since none of them have bail they can afford.” Gon sighed, “…Kurapika wouldn’t let me near them.”

Killua chuckled quietly, still clearly pleased by the affection, the pink of his face a pretty contrast against the pale green of the sheets and his hospital gown.

“Probably wise on their part.” He hummed. Then his sleep-blurred gaze hardened into a glare, the same type of glare that Killua gave him whenever he tried hiding red peppers in his unhealthy dinners. “I don’t need you going to jail for stupid reasons.”

Gon stuck out his bottom lip, but just tucked his face against his love’s collarbone and huffed. Killua was okay now.

And if Gon had anything to say about it, Killua would be more than okay for the rest of his life.


	4. Fever Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober Day 3 prompt: Delirium!  
(no current TWs)

The fog lifts, dragging thick and heavy across eardrums like a rush of falling wind, the roar of rhythmic thunder echoing in his head. Air. He can’t get enough air. It’s too hot, too dry, burning.

There’s a soft touch on his forehead, a brush of something narrow and cool right along the line where his hair grows. It prickles, the kind of rapid relief that disappears into the heat haze in a ghostly flicker. After mere moments he wonders if he’s dreamed it.

His chest feels tight, swollen with steam. It doesn’t deflate when he wants it too.

It hurts.

Vibration like the low hum of a human voice buzzes into the hollow space behind his eyes, rattling around like the droning fuzz of a bee’s wings, and some of the air trapped in his chest escapes. The balloon pops a little, for a moment. The trail of cold brushes back across his forehead, thicker and heavier. It presses the tiny bubbles out of his face. Something pops again, a faint _thwip_ trickling into one ear as sound starts to echo in.

It’s uneven, and the voices bounce strangely, warbling inside his skull, but he can hear.

“…burning up…”

“…pass…damp cloth…”

“…Leorio, is he…”

Water like ice hits his brow, and he cries out, voice scraping the inside of his throat like knives dragging along skin, blood beading like acid. And the ice settles, gnawing his temples, hair soaking to flatten on his head. It’s relief and curse, cracking heat still baking his limbs, skin singed by tiny pinpricks of liquid fire. The voices are gentle, murmuring soft noise to drown out the pounding crack of heartbeat thunder.

His chest still aches painfully, muscle clenching into his ribs like he was collapsing inward.

He opens his eyes to color and more needles, the kind of needles that sunk into soft brain tissue, dripping pain, tiny and gold and hooked into the center of his forehead. He’s blind and staring. Yellow and green and brown swirl against a background of cream. There’s a flash of brown, amber and dark, and grey, soft grey like a storm cloud, glinting wetly across the cream sky. The soft murmuring voices surround him still, tuneless white noise.

“…awake? Hey, it’s…”

Cool stripes tickle down his chin and neck slowly, the pleasant relief evaporating behind the light touches. He leans towards the flicker of movement, shallow inhales punctured with faint pops of pressure.

“…fever…process anything…”

Amber flutters over him, butterflies of liquid gold swimming in the rippling atmosphere. It’s familiar, a familiar color. Some knot in his chest slides free, and he coughs out a painful gasp, fire splitting his lungs. And he coughs, chest aching, ribs creaking, clods of thick fog cracking apart in his torso.

“…there he goes…”

Amber and bronze and deep green like forest floors puddle on rolling white next to him, crumpling thin layers of marble in fluid motions. Blinking doesn’t clear the frost from his gaze or the twinned images, and light lances through the center of his skull, reverberating with each heartbeat. Another spasm, chest heaving. Putty clogs the back of his throat and he spits it up, a wet hairball.

This time, he knows that the thin strokes through his hair and across his face are fingers, and he wonders how he didn’t know before. His other ear bubbles and pops, sending a drain of coolly trickling liquid down the back of his throat. There’s still too much air in his skull. He chokes on the ache of drumbeats in his eye sockets.

Something soft and warm against his cheek, hint of damp flickering along the outline of that anxious mouth. And the heat doesn’t lift, but shifts, flames still singeing him with iron. There’s a cool puff of air against his earlobe.

“Easy. Easy, I’m here. Close your eyes.”

Amber glitters in the corner of his eye, grey flashing ruby overhead, and he falls back into the dark.


End file.
